


thunder, lightning, dark

by bluecarrot



Series: tumblr tumblr tumblr prompts!!! [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Bad Jokes, Boys Kissing, Cussing, General Antics, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Mention of Death, Prompt Fic, Thunder and Lightning, Thunderstorms, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, alex is afraid of the dark, honestly i don't like it either, pure trash, shitty neighbor AUs, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7617253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/bluecarrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Alex is afraid of the dark (and of thunderstorms), and is pathetic enough that even Burr feels some sympathy</p><p>(a tumblr prompt fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	thunder, lightning, dark

**Author's Note:**

> written 7/27/2016.
> 
> these are all real one-liners, sadly
> 
> from  
> "during a storm all the lights went out and now youre in my apartment bc youre afraid of the dark but i want to kick you out again since all you do is keep telling cheesy one liners"  
> from  
> "some shitty neighbor AUs" @corvou on tumblr

 

 

The lights flicker once -- twice -- then they go out and stay out.

Burr swears. He was _working_ , he was _reading,_ and now --

He finds the matches, finds the tall glass-jarred emergency candles, lights it -- just as another roll of thunder breaks hard overhead and the lightning crashes in tandem and something, some _one_ pounds at the front door.

He starts violently and it comes again -- a quick triple-knock, decisive.

Candle in hand, he looks through the peephole (and rolls his eyes at himself: _of course_ he can't see anything, the lights are out in the hallway too) -- swears again under his breath -- and opens the door, keeping the chain on.

"Hey. Um. You're Burr, right? Guess your lights are out too. It must be all over."

The guy from down the hall. They've traded mail a few times. What is his name again? "Uh. Hello."

"You have candles? Oh, _veladora._ Nice. Good idea. You religious?"

"Not exactly. Did you need something?" _Hamilton_ , that's his name. He looks nervous, wide-eyed, though maybe that is the effect of the darkness around him -- or else the storm, thinks Burr, because another crash of thunder comes and he flinches down like someone was going to hurt him.

"Well. Thing is. I'm alone upstairs, and, um, it's pretty dark. And I don't much like storms."

"Um," says Burr, trying to think of a polite way to say no.

"Please? I just -- I'm a little -- "

Another _crack_ and another wince. It doesn't seem feigned.

Burr sighs. "Hold on." He shuts the door, unlatches the chain. "Have a seat -- I guess. Did you want something to drink?"

"Shit, yes. Could you?"

Burr could. And come to think of it, he might as well have one too. He gives Hamilton a beer and sits on the floor and takes a sip from his own can. "The candle. What did you call it? _Vela_ \-- something?"

"Prayer candles, _veladoras._ My mother _\--_ Jesus _fuck!"_

"It must be right over us." Burr watches the other man. "Are you okay?"

"I don't like storms."

"I can see that."

"It's the dark."

"It gets dark every night."

"Don't be an asshole," says Hamilton. "Do you think I really enjoy cowering on your sofa? Um. Yeah, those candles. My motherliked them, she lit them all the time, one each for whomever was sick. You just sort of let them burn and it sends up the prayers, you know? Like being in church, sometimes. After the --" He swallows down whatever he was going to say and changes the subject so abruptly it's almost painful. "They should put pick-up lines on beer cans. Really bad ones. Like, _You look good in these beer goggles._ "

 "That is the worst idea I've ever heard."

"Was your dad a boxer? Cause you're a knockout."

"These are _terrible_. Did this tactic ever work for you?"

"Hope springs eternal. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

"Hamilton, please stop before I kick you out." He's only half-serious but Hamilton shrinks back again.

"Sorry," he says. "It's just, it's so damn  _dark_." He rubs his arms and the storm strobes through the curtains and the rain batters on the windows like fingers begging for purchase and the thunder rolls and pulses and crackles, and with every noise, Hamilton twitches.

Burr looks away from the sight of that exposed nerve. "I don't much like storms myself," he says. It's true.

"No. Really?"

"Really."

Another crash of lightning. Hamilton nearly spills the beer into his lap. "Hey, Burr? Are you from Tennessee?"

"I'm from New York. And elsewhere. Why did you think I was from Tennessee, of all places?"

"Because you're the only ten-I-see."

 Burr shakes his head. "That is so cheesy."

"It's supposed to be, remember? Um. So, yeah. I grew up in PR, you know? And. Okay. Well. When I was a kid," and Hamilton starts to jiggle his leg, and Burr tries not to stare at how his hair falls down over his face, how his eyes drop down, how his hands, graceful and long-fingered, clench around the can -- "There was a big storm. Hurricane. It flooded my town. And the wind knocked the houses down like they were straw houses, in that story, you know, the wolves and the pigs? People drowned. I didn't drown. _Mi madre,_ she didn't drown either but she got sick, real bad sick, afterwards. From all the water, I think. Somehow." He takes a drink. His accent is thickening. "Even up here I don't like the rain much. Um. I can't help it. I know you're thinking that's stupid."

 No. Not stupid. "I was thinking that's a pretty good reason, actually."

But Hamilton still has his head down. 

So.

Burr rubs his face, he can't _believe_ he's doing this, but -- "Hey. Hamilton." The head jerks up and the eyes are wide, the pupils darkly fragile. "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

It works: Hamilton brightens a little, straightens up. He still looks a bit ragged but he says easily enough, "Are you a parking ticket? Cause you've got _fine_ written all over you."

"If I had to rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together," says Burr, very seriously, though his mouth twitches.

"Did you just come out of the oven? Because you're hot."

"It actually is warm in here, with the fans off. Sorry about that. I could open a window, if you'd like, but the rain ..."  
The other man shakes his head. "You could take off some clothes. I could strip down to my skivvies."

"That's quite all right." But the image arises unbidden; Burr blinks it away. Beer goggles indeed! He takes another drink and is surprised to find the can is empty.

"Do you want another? Might as well drink them all tonight anyway, they'll go skunky, chilled and then reheated." He goes back to the kitchen and gets the rest of the pack, trying not to think of ulterior motives. 

Ridiculous.

Hamilton calls: "Burr?"

 "Yeah."

"Can I tie your shoes? I can't have you falling for anyone else."

"I am going to _throttle_ you," he says, but he sits down on the sofa anyway and Hamilton wiggles over a bit, giving him more space.

He takes another can and smiles in relief. "It's so nice and cold. Mmm." He presses it to the back of his neck; he's pink-cheeked now. It contrasts with his eyes, his expression. 

The rain is falling more slowly, the thunder grown more distant. "Storm's leaving." 

"Yeah." But Hamilton looks like he feels sick again ...

... so Burr takes a deep breath. "Do your legs hurt from running through my dreams all night?"

 And the haunted look seeps away a bit. "Was your dad a baker? Cause you've got a nice set of buns."

Burr counters. "If I told you that you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

"Do you have a mirror in your pocket? Cause I can see myself in your pants."

"Oh, that is terrible. That is just awful." He wracks his brain for another line. "Smile if you want to sleep with me." And now he can feel his face grow warm.

 Hamilton grins. "That's not even clever."

"No," says Burr. "It's not."

And Hamilton looks away a second, clears his throat. "I hope you know CPR, because I need some mouth-to-mouth."

"I don't, actually. So please keep breathing."

"Aww, but you take my breath away."

Burr laughs out loud. "Try again."

 "Sure thing. I've heard that kissing is the language of love; how about a conversation?"

"Your lips," he starts, and forgets the rest of it because Hamilton is _looking_ at him, brushing the hair back behind his ears, still smiling faintly, and it's goddamn distracting.  _I need some mouth to mouth_. "Sorry. Your lips -- uh."

"Yeah? What about them?" Definitely smiling now.  _Smile if you want to sleep with me,_ and Hamilton had smiled at him ...

"Your lips look lonely."

"Is that so. What are you going to do about it?"

"Uh," says Burr. "Would they like to meet mine?"

"Are you a light switch, Burr? Because you turn me on."

"That's strangely out of place for tonight, don't you think? How about, uh, I think you're suffering from a lack of Vitamin Me."

"How about," says Hamilton, "how about this: "I'll bet you five dollars that I can kiss you without touching you."

"... What?"

Hamilton repeats himself.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It's a pick-up line, Burr. It's not meant to be intelligent. I already explained this to you."

"Okay, so -- sure, I'll bite. How _can_ you kiss me without touching me?"

\-- And Alex leans forward and kisses him, curling a supportive hand around the back of his neck at the same time so Burr's instinctive jerk backwards is muffled a bit and his mouth is left more or less in place; he feels that hand drop down to his neck, his collarbone, his chest, and his own hands reach out to touch Alex, holding on to his shirt, kissing him again.

Then they pull away.

"Well," says Burr, a  little tremulous. "You owe me five dollars."

"Worth it," says Hamilton. "Burr --"

"Yeah?"

"I didn't think this would actually _work."_

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo yo what time is it? TUMBLR  
> okay that was terrible  
> i am very tired  
> find me tho -- @littledeconstruction


End file.
